


an irrevocable condition

by bellaaanovak



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Detective Castiel, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Lawyer Sam Winchester, Long Lost/Secret Relatives, M/M, POV Sam Winchester, Past Child Abuse, Separate Childhoods, Separated at Birth, Serial Killer Dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-05
Updated: 2014-09-06
Packaged: 2018-02-16 05:34:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2257716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellaaanovak/pseuds/bellaaanovak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When extremely successful criminal lawyer Sam Campbell is struck with the tragic death of his fiancée Jessica Moore while an investigation of a string of homicides is taking place, he seems to have lost all hope of finding out who killed her. The lead detective on the case, Cas Novak, informs Sam the serial killer dubbed “The Hunter from Hell” by the press has killed her. Cas informs Sam of a DNA sample left on her clothes which lead the authorities to a violent and disturbed individual who doesn’t object to the arrest – Dean Winchester. Worst comes to worst when the court appoints Sam as Dean’s lawyer, and it all goes downhill from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> sam is 32, dean is 36, cas is 35.

Five rings. No answer. He calls again.

 

Five rings. No answer. He leaves a message.

 

“Jess, it’s me… I’ve been trying to call you. You haven’t come home yet, and I’m just beginning to worry. I love you. Please call me if you’re okay.” He hangs up. She’s never late. She’s a nurse, she’s always punctual, she’s always home on time. Why isn’t she home yet? She was at her friend’s bachelorette party. She should have been home two hours ago. He calls again. Two rings. A man picks up.

 

“Hello?”

“Who is this?” He asks timidly.

“This is Detective Novak with the PAPD. Can I ask who’s calling?”

“I – I’m Sam… I’m trying to reach my fiancée.” A long pause, a heavy sigh, and the clearing of a throat on the other line.

“Sam, can I come see you?”

“What? No. What is this about? Is Jessica okay?” Sam freezes in his spot. He stops pacing, he runs a hand through his hair, and gnaws on his bottom lip. “Detective?”

“Please, allow me to explain in person. May I come see you?”

“Um, yes, yeah. Fine.”

 

Sam gives the detective his and Jessica’s address and doesn’t sit down until he arrives. He can’t even think straight. Why would a detective in Palo Alto have Jessica’s cell phone? What’s happening? The detective shows up around fifteen minutes after the phone call ends. He looks exhausted and well spent. His dark hair is a bit too unkempt, he needs a shave, and a tan trench coat covers his suit. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days. Hell, maybe he hasn’t, what with that killer terrorizing Palo Alto.

 

“Detective. I’m Sam Winchester. Can you please tell me what this is about? Is she – she was at a party. Did she get too drunk or something, spending the night in jail?” Sam laughs nervously. They’ve both had fun before but nowadays it isn’t like her to drink. They’ve been trying to have a baby for months, now.

“Mr. Winchester, I think you should sit down.”

 

Oh, God.

 

Sam feels an uncomfortable tightness in his chest. He’s had to say those words before to clients. He knows it doesn’t do any good to stop standing, because usually when a client gets bad news, they tend to stand up again and start yelling. What’s the worst that she could have done? Spend a ton of money? Damage property?

 

“No. I’m fine standing.”

“Sir, I have to insist.” Detective Novak reaches to place a hand on his shoulder, but Sam avoids contact.

“I have to refuse. Sir.” Sam snaps back. “Please, just tell me what the hell is going on and let me see my fiancée.” Sam watches Detective Novak wince and he squints.

“Your fiancée was killed a little over three hours ago.”

 

The world goes quiet. Has he gone deaf? He can’t hear anything. He can’t hear the words the detective is speaking. He can’t hear his contact his knees make with the hard wood floor, but he can feel the sharp pain shoot up his legs. He can’t hear anything. His world has gone dark, but the lights are all too bright. She can’t be dead. He just spoke to her earlier. She can’t be dead. Suddenly, everything is loud again. His hands are warm and wet, and he looks down and sees blood seeping out of four tiny crescents in his skin where his nails dug in. The sound around him feels louder than it ever has been.

 

“Sam? Sam? Mr. Winchester, please, let me help you.” Detective Novak’s voice rings in his ears loudly. Sam feels like he can’t even breathe. Oh, God, he _really_ can’t breathe. He clutches his chest and coughs even though nothing happens. The man in front of him is blurry and the chandelier in the living room Jessica picked out is the last thing he sees before he passes out.

 

<><><> 

 

When Sam wakes up, he’s in the hospital. What the hell happened? He frowns at the realization of the oxygen mask, and groans at the uncomfortable feel of the hospital gown. There are bandages wrapped around his hands and there’s an IV in his arm and he starts coughing, really not understanding why he’s here. A blonde nurse walks in the room with her hair tied back and starts looking over some charts. Oh, thank God, it was all just a dream.

 

“Jessica,” he sighs. The woman turns around, and much to his dismay, isn’t his fiancée.

“I’m sorry?” She answers back.

“Why am I here? What happened to me?”

“You had a panic attack,” an unfamiliar, gravelly voice answers. “Do I have to give you the news twice?” Wait… that voice.

“D-Detective Novak?”

 

He’s hit with it. Sam is shoved head over heels into the situation he would rather die than be in. He remembers why the detective was at his house. He remembers, he remembers, and he remembers. The voice is vivid in his head now. _Your fiancée was killed a little over three hours ago._ It echoes. _Your fiancée was killed. Your fiancée was killed. Your fiancée was killed._ She’s gone, Jessica is dead, and Sam doesn’t know what the hell to do. The coldness of the tired blue eyes in front of him shocks him. It isn’t a game, it isn’t a lie. This is real. This is happening, and the love of his life is dead.

 

“She’s… What happened?” Sam asks weakly. The detective nods for the nurse to leave and she does immediately. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“I’m sure you’re not ready to hear all of the details, but I’ll leave you to find out on your own, if you want to.” Detective Novak purses his lips and inhales deeply. “Are you familiar with the Hunter from Hell?” Sam thinks. He remembers a press conference he saw on TV a few days ago.

 

_“The man we’re looking for is a white man, approximately between the ages of thirty and forty-five. He’s flirty. He’s charming, quick, and usually very quiet in his personal life. He has time to stalk his victims before killing them, which means he probably has a low-paying job with little or very flexible hours. So far he’s gone after both men and women varying from ages twenty-five to thirty-five, all blonde, all attractive. This man is very dangerous and will stop at nothing to get a person alone. He hunts in bars, clubs, and crowded parties for victims, and then proceeds to stalk them. We estimate he will kill again in the next week, so please, pay careful attention to this sketch, and call the number on your screen if you have any information regarding this man. Thank you.”_

The sketch stands out in his mind.

“Yes, I’m familiar.”

“Well, the way your fiancée was killed is the same way the Hunter has been killing his victims. Strangulation, stab wounds, and signs of sexual assault. I… I won’t know the official cause of death until tomorrow, as well as if there was anything else. I left the crime scene early so I could talk to you.”

 

Sam has heard his fair share of gruesome details after sitting in on so many cases where victims or he himself have had to present descriptions of how exactly someone was killed or injured. Usually, he can handle it. Usually he doesn’t mind a little bit of gore in the movies he watches or the particular specifics of a crime, but this… This is hell. Hearing just the basics of what happened to his baby, his _everything_ , was torture in itself.

 

“You better catch the guy.” Sam says in a low voice. He doesn’t know what else to do. He has to call her parents. He has to call his mother; he has to plan a fucking funeral for her.

“We will. I swear.”

 

It didn’t make Sam feel any better.

 

<><><> 

 

Fifteen hours. Fifteen fucking hours of silence. He sat in his house haunted by Jessica’s lack of presence. The clock on the microwave reads 2:49. Any minute now, Jessica would have burst into the house smiling and telling him about her day at work so far. They would have been having lunch. God, this is fucking hell. When the phone rings, Sam nearly falls out of his chair. He answers it after the first ring shakily.

 

“H-hello?”

“Sam. It’s Cas Novak. Can I stop by?”

“Of course.”

 

Less than thirty seconds. It takes Novak ten minutes to get to the house, and he’s holding a manila folder.

 

“Here. It’s… the details, if you still want to read them.” Novak hands him the folder and strolls into the kitchen, looks around, pours himself coffee. Yeah, don’t mind if you do.

 

Sam opens the folder carefully and inhales sharply, reading the words over and over, the image of Jessica naked and dead forever burned into his mind. _Multiple [8] stab wounds to the chest, stomach, and thighs. Signs of blunt force head trauma. Signs of sexual assault. Strangulation. Bruises on the neck, arms, and thighs. Pregnancy terminated. Toxicology report: CLEAN. Cause of death: strangulation by hand._ Sam reads the words, he registers all of them countless times, but one sticks with him.

 

_Pregnancy terminated. Fetus four weeks old. Pregnancy terminated. Fetus four weeks old. Pregnancy terminated. Fetus four weeks old. **Pregnancy terminated. Fetus four weeks old. Pregnancy terminated. Fetus four weeks old.**_

****

Sam starts to cry silently. She was pregnant. Jessica was fucking pregnant, she didn’t know, and she was killed. Their baby. The love of his life and their baby was killed by a monster. Novak sits in front of him and takes the folder from him, setting it on the coffee table. He hands Sam one of the two coffee mugs in his hand. Sam drinks gratefully.

 

“She was pregnant.”

“I know. Shame. I’m very sorry, Sam. This has all been awful for everyone.” Novak sips his coffee and smiles. The bastard actually smiles.

“The hell you smiling about?”

“Keep reading.” Even though Sam feels like he’s gonna puke, he takes the folder again and opens it back up, ignoring the photos. He can’t believe it. He reads thoroughly and over and over. “Your fiancée was a very strong woman, Sam. She must have taken the knife off of the pavement and cut his skin somehow while he was… while he was raping her. Blood dripped onto her clothes. Sam, there’s DNA.” Sam grins and allows more tears to flow.

“She really was strong.” He whispers to himself. He looks up from the paper and watches Novak’s spirit lift a little. Like a weight had been lifted off of his tired shoulders.

“We got him.”


	2. two

The ride to the station is less than fun. Sam’s entire body is shaking. Meeting the man who ruined his life is not something he’s entirely looking forward to. Novak turns the radio on to a station playing classical music, and it really calms Sam down, at least for the time being. He leans back in the passenger seat of the comfortable SUV and bites the inside of his cheek. Neither of them talks. He can’t bear to hear anything else until he sees this monster for himself. The music shuts off and they exit the car together and walk into the station. Sam shivers. He’s here.

 

A dark haired woman with skin too pale to be natural approaches them. She has bruises from lack of sleep under her eyes, her makeup is slept in, and her badge sits proudly on her hip.

 

“Sam, meet Special Agent Cassidy. This is Sam Winchester.” Novak gestures to him and the woman smiles.

“Please, call me Ruby.” They shake hands briefly, and she walks them down a series of hallways until they get to the interrogation rooms. He’s been in this station so many times for cases, but he never thought he’d be in here without his briefcase and an actual client.

 

Novak pats him once on the back before entering the small room. Ruby and Sam stay outside, and she lightens the window so they can see in but he can’t see out. He’s there. He’s sitting back against the chair, hands and feet cuffed, and a too-smug smile on his face. His eyes are an unnatural shade of green; his hair is dirty and messy, his clothes absolutely worn down. There are tears in the jeans, scuffs on the boots, and at least one of his three layers has stains or rips on them. Right on his neck above his collarbone there’s a small wound. _That’s my girl._

“His name is Dean Winchester,” Ruby says. “Didn’t even refuse arrest or try to run. Made my job a hell of a lot easier.” Sam blinks. The name sounds vaguely familiar, but he doesn’t know why. He thinks it may be his mind trying to come up with an excuse and ignores it. “When we got to his house, he was just… he was just cleaning his guns. Flipping around a knife. God, what he said when I entered his room.”

“What did he say?”

“He laughed, and then he said, ‘Game over’.”

 

Sam nearly bites his tongue off.

 

Ruby turns the speakers on so they can hear everything that’s going on. Novak is pacing around the room, trying to make him nervous, and slaps a file on the table. He starts pulling photos out, showing them to him. There are nine photographs on the table, all in a row.

 

“Nine,” Novak states. “Nine innocent men and women who never did anything to you. You tried your hardest to insert yourself into their lives, taking advantage of them in their own homes, when no one was there to stop you. You didn’t even care how you treated them or who found them, dumping them in their fucking front yards. Although, that last one really messed you up, didn’t she? She was a _fighter_. You didn’t stalk her first; otherwise you would have killed her in her home. You were, what, too drunk? Too high off of the adrenaline of killing eight people already? You left her in the alley behind a goddamn club, you coward. Her name was Jessica. She was _pregnant_ , you bastard.”

“Is there a word for someone who doesn’t have a mother?” There it is. The first time Sam hears his voice. It’s a low, lightly Southern drawl, and it almost makes Sam sick.

“What?”

“You said I was a bastard. I’m not. My daddy taught me everythin’ I know. I… don’t have… a mother. So, is there a word for that?”

 

Novak slams his fist on the table. Ruby takes her phone out and makes a call.

 

“Anna, can you fax me over everything you can find on Dean Winchester? Yeah, thanks.” She hangs up. Sam sighs and leans back against the wall, watching Novak attempting to talk him into verbally confessing.

 

The conversation Novak has with Dean takes an hour, at least, before he leaves. He runs his hand down on his face and watches him through the window, staring right back at him. Ruby went back to the main rooms twenty minutes ago and Sam hasn’t even moved.

“You want some coffee or somethin’?” Sam asks the detective. Sure, he’s tired, but the guy just grilled a serial killer for an hour. “I gotta get out of here, so do you, and I know a place not too far from here.” Novak hesitates but agrees nonetheless. They walk back to the front where he shucks off that trench coat and unbuttons the top two buttons of his shirt. The PAPD has been working this case for weeks and now with the FBI involved, it must be really heavy. Sam has dealt with pretty intense clients before but nothing remotely similar to this. Palo Alto just doesn’t have serial killers walking around. At least now, it’s one less.

 

<><><> 

 

The coffee shop Sam and Novak drive to is a small family-run business. They have plenty of customers most of the time, but today there’s only a few. It’s a known spot for cops and lawyers to sit in when they can’t handle being at either their homes or their offices. Sam hasn’t even been to his office in three days. He hasn’t had a case come up yet. Kevin, the barista, always has a smile on his face. He’s only eighteen, saving up to go to Princeton. He’s already been accepted, but he wants to pay for it himself as much as he can. Sam admires him because he reminds him of himself.

 

“Sam, what can I get for you?” Kevin asks.

“Just my usual.” Sam throws a ten dollar bill onto the counter and gestures for Novak to order. He knows it’s more than enough, but he and Kevin had made an agreement – Kevin _has_ to keep the change.

“Coffee, three sugars.”

“Comin’ right up.”

 

Once they get their coffee, they sit down at a secluded spot in the back of the shop. Sam really has to talk about Dean and it’d be careless to let anyone get ahold of this information.

 

“I’ve been going at him, and he talks and talks but won’t actually confess. It’s driving me crazy.” Novak says bitterly. “What’s really bugging me, is that he hasn’t even asked for a lawyer. He knows his rights, but he thinks a lawyer will, uh, ‘hold him back’. This is too much.”

“I really just have to know why. Why Jessica. Why those other people.”

“Agent Cassidy’s tech in Quantico is finding out as much as she can on this guy. Maybe something in his life will tell us who he is.” The detective practically gulps his coffee. Sam squints. He hasn’t shaved.

“When’s the last time you slept, Detective?” Sam asks in a moderately concerned tone.

“Two, three… four days? Maybe with a few hours lodged in there.” Novak laughs dryly and attempts to run a hand through his tangled hair.

 

Sam doesn’t respond. He knows why. This case is visibly destroying him. He can’t blame him, that’s for damn sure. He hasn’t slept since he got the news of Jessica’s death. At least knowing the killer has been caught will help him sleep at night. Technically he doesn’t even have to see him until the court date. Damn, he probably will though. Sam will probably go visit him in prison and watch all of the interrogations. He will stop at nothing until he finds out why this happened to him.

 

The two of them sit in the coffee shop quietly for maybe thirty minutes. Their mugs are both empty. They just don’t know what to say, clearly. Novak’s phone rings loudly and he answers it timidly. A light shade of anger forms on his face and he frowns.

“Seriously? God, fine, okay.”

“Everything alright?”

“Winchester demanded a lawyer ten minutes ago. He doesn’t have insurance or any money so the cops at the station are talking to the court about assigning one. Damn it, _shit_. I really thought I was getting somewhere with this guy.” Novak squeezes the edge of the table like he’s gonna throw it or something, and Sam touches his hand, moving it away. There’s a weird feeling in the air and they both yank their hands away quickly. It doesn’t get mentioned.

 

When they arrive back at the station, Sam hurries in with Novak back to the interrogation rooms. They stare at him through the glass. He’s pacing, now; maybe Novak really did break him, which is why he wants a lawyer. Sam’s phone buzzes and he doesn’t think to check it, but Novak insists.

 

“Sam Winchester.”

“Oh, Sam, I’m so glad you answered,” His boss Naomi sounds overly stressed and just as exhausted as the detective in the room. “I’ve been trying to reach you. I have a case for you. Everyone else’s stacks are high, and I noticed you don’t have an open one.” This is a bit of a relief. He needs an outlet to distract him from this mess.

“Yeah, of course, what’s the case?”

“Serial killer named Dean Winchester. Heard of him?”

 

Sam freezes. He squeezes his hand into a fist and gnaws on his bottom lip. He sees Novak’s face fall; he can no doubt hear the call. The man’s hand brushes his arm and he looks at him apologetically.

 

“Yes. I’m looking right at him.”

**Author's Note:**

> alrighty, that was a little messy, but it's midnight, so god forgive me. pleeeeeease leave kudos and comments on this so i know if i should continue writing it! thanks!!!
> 
> art credit: http://amiookamiwolf.deviantart.com/art/Dean-Winchester-Sketch-394578332
> 
> title from a quote by james baldwin: "perhaps home is not a place but simply an irrevocable condition."


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